


la nuit d’espion

by spacestationtrustfund



Series: Blackhawk [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha put her hand over the earpiece, her fingertips brushing her earring and settling over the small device. “Talk to me, Barton.”</p><p>“Are you stressed, Natasha?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	la nuit d’espion

Natasha slid the file smoothly across the desk and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “His name’s François Devois. French, of course. Rich and powerful. Overly fond of champagne and women. He’s also been providing illegal drugs straight from his suppliers to the dealers.”

Clint looked up from the file, appearing nonchalant although Natasha knew he was on high alert. “And I assume Fury wants you to kill him? How? There’s got to be a catch.”

“He’ll be at a party tonight, at a hotel only a few blocks from the Rue de Coillard. I’ll have to use knives, but I’m pretty confident I can get him to follow me to some private location, and unless he keeps something really powerful hidden in the pocket of his best suit, I can take him out.” She looked over at Clint, who was frowning. “Anyway, that’s my assignment. I suspect Devois has had some previous connection to SHIELD, and that’s the real reason, but orders are orders.”

“Sounds lovely,” Clint said thoughtfully, leaning back and placing his boots on the table, arms crossed carelessly behind his head. “Need some backup, Agent Romanov?”

Natasha didn’t try to hide the smile that crossed her face. “I thought you’d never ask. Comms units would be good. Rooftop surveillance. That kind of thing. In case the kill goes south and I need a speedy way out of there.”

“Natasha Romanov, in my head twenty four-seven,” Clint said, pretending to shudder. “Ugh, what a thought.”

With a sigh, Natasha pulled the file back across the table towards her. “He’ll be heavily guarded, of course, so I’ll have to go for the ‘dress up and flirt and use alcohol to inhibit his judgement’ approach.”

Clint tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Always worth a shot.”

“You just like to see me in a dress.”

“It’s an added bonus.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, and almost stuck out her tongue. “You’re hopeless. We’ll be in France in half an hour. If you’re in, you should go suit up and grab your bow. I need to change and get ready.”

“Need a hand with that?”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m not sure if a comms unit will be the best way to go at this point. I don’t know if I can focus on the mission if you talk to me like that, you know.”

Clint only smiled and crossed his legs, watching her appraisingly. “How about we make a deal. You get the mission done, and I’ll stay on topic, for the most part. Then, when we get back here, we make up for it.”

Natasha pursed her lips and winked at him. “How about I get the mission done, you stay on topic, we get back here, and then we talk it over again.”

“We’ll see.” Clint took his feet off the table and stood up. “C’mere, you gorgeous assassin.” He kissed her briefly, then stepped back. “Go get ready, do whatever you need to, and so on. I’ll meet you back here in fifteen, all right?”

Natasha smiled at him again, not the smile she used when she was playing the seductress or the Black Widow but the smile she used when she was playing herself. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

 

***

 

Natasha put her hand over the earpiece, her fingertips brushing her earring and settling over the small device. “Talk to me, Barton.”

“Are you stressed, Natasha?”

She cursed silently in every language she knew before responding. He almost sounded amused, and Natasha wished he was on the mission with her so that she could either kiss him or kill him. “That wasn’t exactly what I mean.”

“Normally I’m only ‘Barton’ if the mission’s going south. Or, god forbid, ‘Agent Barton.’ So what happened? Is the target not, ah, initiating interaction?’

“You and your fancy names for flirting.” She scanned the crowd again. Devois was talking to a woman in a see-through gown, his eyes enjoying her body. Natasha cursed out loud this time. She would have to divert his attention. “I’m just not anticipating a happy ending.”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t lure him to an undisclosed location and have me send an arrow through his throat.”

Natasha bit back a smile. “Patience. It’s my turn. You got the last one, but I’m afraid that the people who matter might start linking ‘Hawkeye’ to ‘archer’ to ‘mysterious deaths caused by arrows.’”

She slipped easily into the group of women surrounding her target, taking a glass of champagne from a passing server and handing it to Devois, giving him a flirtatious smile as she did. She could feel his gaze on her body and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. It was good to be back at work again.

Carefully, subtly, Natasha focused Devois’s attention on her and her alone. She played the role of the seductress well. When he asked for her name, his mouth near her ear smelling of the expensive champagne she’d been steadily giving him more of for the past hour, she told him it was Elisabeth Colombe. It was the name she’d used when in France the last time, and she knew it would be an added jibe when his body was found dead.

“Nat, have you got him interested yet?”

Natasha didn’t reply directly; instead, she continued smiling and purred softly, “ _Mais oui, j’aime bien les champagnes français_.” Not exactly a subtle hint, but Clint understood.

“Christ, don’t go all out, Tasha.”

Devois slid one hand around her upper arm, pulling her body roughly against his. “ _Avez-vous un homme ce soir, mon belle femme?_ ”

“ _Je suis_ _à toi ce soir_ ,” Natasha murmured to Clint.

The man smirked and let his hand slid from her arm to her back, and Natasha forced herself not to shudder with revulsion. “ _Retrouvez-moi_ _à la porte avant en une demi-heure, si ce que vous dites est vrai_.”

Natasha gave him one last seductive smile and brushed her lips against his cheek, before making her way over to the drinks table. “Hawkeye, in half an hour it’ll be done,” she snapped, suddenly businesslike. “Be ready to pick me up outside. Depending on how it goes, I might need you to get me out of here quickly.”

“Oh, so now it’s ‘Hawkeye’?” But she could hear the faint clicking of computer keys and knew he was already working on it. “All right, I’m your cover. I’ll be on the rooftop in twenty. Can you get up there?”

There wasn’t an expected response—of course she could get on the rooftop—and Natasha let her silence speak for her. She wandered through the party, making small talk with the other guests. She didn’t eat anything—there was no telling what could be poisoned. And she didn’t drink, although she was tempted. She needed her head clear and her mind sharp.

“Nat, you still with me?”

She pushed the earpiece further in under the pretence of adjusting her earrings. “Yes.”

“Do you have a visual on Devois?”

She’d been anticipating that question, and thankfully had the correct answer. “Yes. Right now he’s talking to some other men. He’s been socialising with the guests pretty regularly. The whole thing will have to be quick. We should have just poisoned his drink and been done with it.”

“Too risky. We don’t know what kind of antidotes he carries with him. Or if he tests his drinks for poison . . . or if someone else does. In his position, he’d be a fool not to have antidotes and testers. Fury wants him dead, completely dead.”

Natasha huffed in irritation. “Well, time’s up. I have to go meet Devois and take him out.”

“Have fun.” Clint’s tone became abruptly more serious. “If you let him touch you I swear to god I’ll kill him.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Natasha said softly, beginning to walk towards the front doors. She could feel the cold metal of her knives strapped against her thighs and was grateful for the rush of power the weapons gave to her.

“I know you will.” Something in his voice had softened, and Natasha smiled as she reminded herself that he was probably waiting on the roof at this point, talking to her and watching the proceedings from his vantage point high above. “Good luck. Not that you need it.”

She stepped outside and a blast of abrupt wind hit her full in the face, pressing her dress against her body and blowing her hair into her eyes. No wonder Clint hadn’t been sent to shoot in conditions like these—his aim would be off with a bow, and even a gun would prove tricky to handle. The noise was also an issue in the case of a gun—the issue which had caused her to be told to resort to her knives and her hands if she had to do so.

Devois was waiting by a large, exquisitely carved white marble pillar outside of the hotel, enjoying the way her dress clung to her figure. “ _Ah, ma merveilleux Elisabeth_ ,” he greeted her, sliding his arm around her waist and letting his hand wander down to her upper thigh, dangerously close to where her knives were concealed, “ _allons-nous?_ ”

Natasha started to move his hand closer, then switched direction and pulled her skirt up and had a knife at his neck in an instant. His eyes widened in sudden shock and terror, but Natasha had already cut his throat and kicked him away from her, wiping the blood on his expensive suit and slipping the weapon back into its sheath. She knelt beside his body and started searching his pockets. A picture of a scantily clad blonde, a pack of cigarettes, some small packages of unidentifiable powders, several bills and coins from different currencies . . .

“Natasha!” Clint’s voice in her ear was insistent. “Natasha, where are you? I don’t have a visual on you, are you still inside? Or did you make it outside? Is the target with you? Natasha!”

She cupped her hand around her ear against the wind, knowing the noise must have made it difficult for him to hear what was happening on her end of the communication unit. “It’s all right, Clint. It’s done. I’m outside. Where are _you_ , Clint?”

A definite note of smugness was injected into his tone when he spoke, although Natasha could hear the relief in there as well. “And now I’m ‘Clint’ at last. That’s how I know you’ve done it, Natasha. I’m on the roof right above the front doors.”

Natasha started hurrying out into the street in front of the hotel, hoping for a better view. “No wonder I couldn’t see you—I was right in front of the doors. Is there a ladder or something? I can’t climb a building in this goddamn dress.” She could see him now, a vague dark shadow perched on the edge of the rooftop.

“There’s a fire escape sort of thing around the side to your left. Yes, that’s it. It’s a bit rusty, but still usable. Okay, here we go.” He reached down and pulled her up onto the roof, the full force of the win buffeting against her and making it hard to stand. “You look beautiful, of course. Duck down, and the wind’ll get better. Fury should be here to pick us up any time now. I just called him a minute ago.”

Natasha watched him as he scanned the streets below, eyes flickering around in their rapid search for movement. Devois’s body was still collapsed in front of the hotel, and Natasha wondered absently when it would be found and by whom.

“How’d it go?” asked Clint as he continued to watch with his bow readied, an arrow notched in his hands, ready to shoot at any suspicious signs of movement.

“Quite smoothly,” Natasha admitted, tapping the two-way comms unit to shut it off. “Our knowledge about his love of champagne and women were correct. Thankfully I was able to use both to my advantage.”

Clint removed one of his hands from his bow and beckoned Natasha closer, pulling her into his chest and kissing her hair. “Well, next time it’s my turn to show them that no one should be able to touch you except me.”

Natasha started to say something, then decided that there were other, better uses for her mouth, and started kissing him instead. He kissed her back, his fingers tangled in her hair, and she didn’t know if it was the chill of the wind or the touch of his hands that was making his shiver.

“You know, I’ve really got to stop walking in on you two when you’re, ah, otherwise engaged,” Stark’s voice commented. Natasha looked up to see him standing on the edge of the roof, arms actually folded and a seemingly disapproving look on his metal mask. “Also, terrible surveillance. I could have killed you both before Barton could have reached an arrow and you could have done whatever the hell else it is you’ve decided to do these days.”

Natasha decided to glare at Stark while he grabbed them both and flew them up to where the Helicarrier was invisibly hovering over the hotel. Clint was grinning, and when Stark set them down he whispered into Natasha’s ear that didn’t have a comms unit in it, “You really do look wonderful in that dress, and I bet you’d look good without it too.”

“You need to work on your pickup lines, Agent Barton,” Natasha said, but she kissed him swiftly on the cheek before she walked away. She had to check in with Fury anyway, before she did anything else, no matter what that anything was.

“You two are disgusting,” Stark grumbled, but Natasha didn’t try to stop her laughter as she watched Clint walk away backwards, grinning at her and almost walking into a wall. She turned around and started to head towards Fury’s office.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](spacestationtrustfund.tumblr.com)


End file.
